


Immunity and the Art of In-Between

by iliadawry



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-24
Updated: 2012-08-24
Packaged: 2017-11-12 19:13:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/494708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iliadawry/pseuds/iliadawry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn't necessarily what anyone expected. Except maybe the one person who'd kill to defend it (and may yet).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Immunity and the Art of In-Between

**Author's Note:**

> Immense thanks to echoist, without whom I would never have found the show, let alone the fandom. All mistakes are mine, all corrections echoist's, all instances of editing of "Muffy" resulted in giggling.

“Because I am fucking SICK of funerals!”

Chris stood there, and time slowed down as her fist flew. It always did for him, just a little. _I can’t afford to lose the nose_ , he thought, _but a fractured eye socket I can deal with_. He ducked a little to the left. The punch snapped his head back. “I know, Allison,” he said, waiting for the little white explosion of purely mortal pain. “But you want to be there for Lydia.”

“Fuck you,” she hissed. His arms wrapped around her by instinct. Her gangly strength became boneless sobs in his arms. He held her up. There it was, the pain. He hoped it was his eye watering and not blood that dripped down his cheek. He wasn’t really sure, though. He didn’t care enough to check.

~

Allison ignored the Martins’ glares and wrapped her arm around Lydia’s shoulders protectively.

Lydia looked good in black. She’d taken a lot of care picking her dress for Kate’s funeral, and it had gotten too much wear this month. Jackson’s was the last of them, and the only one for which her makeup wasn’t flawless. She let Allison wrap her up, rested her head in the crook of her neck. If it wasn’t for the hiccuping sobs it would have been satisfyingly scandalous.

It should have surprised no one that Stiles was the only one who noticed she wasn’t wearing heels. Allison was too busy noticing every one of those sobs and letting her arm get tighter.

~

David Whittemore sighed. Certainly, making a will for Jackson was wise; a large estate waited in trust for him. It didn’t make it any easier to deal with the fact that his son had died, though. He spent a lot of time sitting with that thought. And billing. No use cutting his billable hours.

He wasn’t surprised at the division -- half to them, half to Lydia Martin. He was a little surprised at the recent additions -- ten thousand dollars to Stiles Stilinski to buy a car that didn’t suck as much. Ten thousand to Scott McCall, no reason given. Twenty to Derek Hale: “I pay debts.” What it was his son thought he owed that filthy murderous loser twenty thousand dollars for he couldn’t quite fathom, but it was down in black and white, and the impact on the estate was negligible, so it wasn’t worth fighting in any meaningful way.

Lydia was still in black a week later, though she was back on the towering heels by now. She could barely meet David’s eyes as she was shown in. “Ms. Martin,” he said, years of practice putting him on autopilot. “As you know, I am the executor of Jackson’s will. I need you to sign some paperwork to authorize a trust to be created. It’s complicated, so I’ll explain it to you as we go,” he said kindly. He thought it was kindly. He didn’t really care.

She looked up at him, her eyeliner perfect, her mascara unsmudged. “I’d rather read,” she said, her voice quiet and determined.

“I know. It’s a very hard time for all of us and I’d like to lose myself in a book too,” he began.

“I’d rather read the paperwork,” she said. Her eyes didn’t waver from his face. “Than have you explain it to me. I should at least have a legal guardian present, if not a lawyer of my own, but I suppose since you didn’t decide to tell me what this was about me reading what I’m signing will have to do for now. Besides, you’ve called me Lydia for years. Why is it Ms. Martin now, Mr. Whittemore?”

He blinked. “You don’t seem to understand. This is very complicated legal paperwork. I --”

“You’re transferring part of an estate in trust into another trust. It’s not that complicated.” She gave him a bit of side-eye and reapplied her lip gloss. He wasn’t sure why it needed reapplying. “If you’d prefer I can take the paperwork to our lawyer and have her check my work, though.”

“I... suppose so.” He handed her a folder. “Thank you, Lydia. I... we’re going to miss you.”

“More than you know,” she snapped.

Allison took the folder out of her hands when she got to the outer office. “Where to now?” she asked, looking Lydia up and down quickly to make sure she didn’t seem ready to burst into tears or rage or other burst-worthy emotions.

“Your house. Need to read and my mother won’t leave me alone unless I’m drugged.” Lydia rolled her eyes. “I’m not ‘grieving properly’.”

Allison nodded and got out her car keys.

~

If she had paused to think about it, Allison would have been puzzled by how someone that close to redheadedness could look like that in a pink bikini. Lydia even had the peaches-and-cream skin associated with her more effusively ginger relatives; it should have been unflattering, especially with the ruffles. Lydia had apparently decided not to care, and it was working for her. She lounged carelessly in the shade by the pool, sipping something almost the same color as her suit. There were blue flowers in her hair, a book in one hand.

Allison’s suit choice was more athletic (she liked her pool-lounging interspersed with swimming) and went with the traditional wisdom -- brunettes in jewel tones. Red, in this case, with black.

“Paisley?” Lydia said, cocking an eyebrow above her sunglasses. “That is SO ‘trying to look younger than thirty-five’. You need a better bathing suit, stat. What if I’d had guys over?”

“You haven’t talked to anyone male aside from Stiles, my dad and maybe your dad since the funeral. And I’m still waiting to see evidence that you’ve actually spoken to your dad." She giggled a little. "And I don’t think you think Stiles counts.”

“Touche,” Lydia said. “What delightful archaic combat style are you practicing this week? Arming sword and buckler?”

Allison rolled her eyes. “Aikido isn’t archaic. You should pick some up. Works well for cute little things like you. No one sees it coming.” She dropped into the chair beside Lydia’s.

Lydia grabbed her chair and yanked it closer, leaning in. “What are you wearing?”

“...a bathing suit you don’t like?”

“Perfume, moron. What makes you smell so delicious?”

“Oh, uh... Coppertone?”

~

“I’ll pick you up at one. And no mall this time. Somewhere more interesting.”

“I’m not sure if you know this, Allison, but Beacon Hills isn’t quite large enough for its very own Dolce & Gabbana boutique. We have, like, twenty people here total.”

Allison’s rolling eyes were audible. “So it’s the mall or nothing? No interesting thrift stores or anything?”

“Ugh, thrift stores? Really? I’d never.”

“You’d find something perfect and it’d be even better than the mall, because no one could find anything like it. No more wannabe Lydia clones running around.”

*

Lydia crowded herself into Allison’s dressing room with half a dozen more full hangers. “Try this one,” she said, holding up something dark blue that Allison couldn’t get a good look at. “You’ll kill everyone. Seriously. They’ll fall over in amazement. It’s a good color on you. It’ll go with the wolfsbane in your hair.”

“I don’t wear wolfsbane in my hair, dork. That’s you.”

“I know! I’m starting a trend, and you in this dress with wolfsbane in your hair will give it the kickoff it needs.” Lydia grinned coyly. “Now strip. You have dresses to try on.”

“I’m not wearing wolfsbane, Lydia. I know Scott and I broke up but I’m just --”

Lydia put her finger on Allison’s lips to silence her. “You’re still trying on this dress. Clothes off. Now.”

Allison blinked at Lydia. “You have never tried this hard to get me out of my clothes before...” She did start pulling her dress over her head, though, after a long look at Lydia’s face. She almost missed Lydia’s eyes flicking down to her baring skin. “...you’ve seen it all before anyway. You made me buy that bikini you liked...?”

“Which was also this color. Because I know how to dress you, unlike some other people in here.”

Allison thought she saw something more pointed than Lydia’s usual knowing slyness when she looked up. Lydia swayed on her heels, brushing against Allison and grabbing her hip with one hand. For a second she swore she saw Lydia licking her lips. That didn’t surprise her as much as her own reaction, though, her arm dropping around Lydia’s shoulders like it had at the funeral, pulling her close like it was instinct, like it was the most natural thing in the world to drag Lydia Martin closer and press her against bare skin and the way she just melted a little, like she’d been wound up in ache for months and just wanted this. But she couldn’t, because she was Lydia Martin, not Erica -- that had to be trendy -- or Stiles who was kind of a dark horse but apparently susceptible to smolder.

She giggled and kissed Lydia’s forehead. “Where are we staying tonight?”

~

Chris watched from the shadow of the field lights. Allison and Lydia were both too young for homecoming court, though Lydia had been nominated anyway. This was the Jackson Whittemore Memorial Homecoming, and they had decided to make a show of it, but she had turned down the seat on the court with surprising grace. The two of them sat in the bleachers, instead, the nighttime chill leaving both of them wrapped in Allison’s heavy coat.

“They grow up so fast,” a voice said from far closer than anyone should have been able to get to him. “Particularly for you.”

Chris’ hand fell to the gun at his hip. “I suspect yours would have too, if you’d managed to have any before you died.”

“Perhaps I’ll do better this time around,” Peter mused. “Allison’s cubs with the Omega will be lovely.”

“He’s not an Omega. You saw that much.” He looked back over the field at Lydia’s lips brushing Allison’s cheek. “Besides, she doesn’t seem to be paying much attention to him at the moment.” Allison turned to Lydia. Her hand curved protectively -- or possessively -- over Lydia’s shoulder. The kiss was demanding, hungry, anything but tentative. Chris smiled, a little, mostly in the eyes.

“It’s inevitable. He’ll follow her until she dies, or he does.” There was just enough snarl in Peter’s tone for Chris to think he was troubled by this development.

“Maybe,” Chris said. “He’ll die first, though. I’ve learned a lot about my daughter since we moved here. Including some tiny inkling of just what she can endure. You won’t be alive to see it, but she’s going to be better than I ever was. She’s going to be stronger than her father, wiser than her mother and more cunning than her grandfather.”

“A tall order,” Peter said, mild. He was right behind Chris now, the warmth of his breath on Chris’ neck. “Especially if you don’t want her to be crazier than her aunt.” His hand came up to catch the elbow to his ribs, though not quite quickly enough. He winced in the darkness as the move caught a still-tender shattered bone.

“Don’t do this,” Chris said. “I know what she did. I know she was wrong. And I know you aren’t any better. Let my daughter have tonight. Live to see another sunrise.” He didn’t look back, watching Allison and Lydia, the pair of them oblivious to the scene they were causing.

“I am no better,” Peter said, thoughtful. “I might be worse. And you’re still willing to let me walk away tonight?”

“At the moment,” Chris said. “I’m not sure how long the offer will last. Your insistence on running your damn mouth isn’t making me merciful.” He shifted slightly. _Graze my side, burn a little, break a rib, should catch him square in the chest_ , he mused. _Eye socket healed well. Maybe the rib will too. Or I could sacrifice some of the tricep..._ He didn’t take his eyes off his daughter. He wasn’t surprised that the air behind him grew cooler as Peter slipped away. He shook his head to clear it. _I don’t hear voices. And if I did, they wouldn’t be saying “immune”._

~

“Took you long enough,” Lydia said as she pulled Allison’s t-shirt on. “God, what does a girl have to do? I thought I was going to have to hire a skywriter or something.”

Allison smiled. “Maybe you should have. I was too fixated on things being wrong for everyone...” She didn’t bother getting dressed again, just rolling Lydia onto her back and pulling the shirt out of the way.

“Hey! I just put that on! You really believed I couldn’t recognize the smell of suntan lotion? Or thought it smelled good? I don’t know what they’re feeding you, but I want some too. It sounds fun.” Lydia’s fingers traced down Allison’s spine, back up her side. “That bow has made your back amazing. We are SO dressing you to show that off.”

“You’re going to burn all my clothes, aren’t you?” Her lips were warm against Lydia’s earlobe.

“Only because they don’t deserve you, dahling. I don’t know that anything is good enough for you. Guess you’ll have to wander around naked all the time.” Lydia’s wicked grin was audible. Her nails raked down Allison’s back and Allison hissed, pleased and surprised.

“Girls!” Chris yelled up the stairs. “Breakfast!”

**Author's Note:**

> Bless Muffy.


End file.
